


Three AM

by Fall_Rosie



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, a bit of projection, ask to tag because i dont know how to tag this, late night thinking session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall_Rosie/pseuds/Fall_Rosie
Summary: Danny drinks some tea alone at three AM
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Three AM

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know how to describe this other than you know how when its late enough and youre awake your brain likes to give you a presentation on all your mistakes and worries and fears? yeah. I normally get that at 11 pm and sometimes 1 am but i was having one of those moments and i decided I was gonna project a little when all I wanted to do was write Danny drinking tea. Anyways this is barely edited and probably makes no sense and isnt paced well but i promised myself that Id actually share my writing for this fandom soooo hi hello this is what you get for now.

It's three AM. 

Danny turned the stove on and placed the kettle down, carefully and as quietly as metal on metal can be. It belonged to Jazz, but she never complained when he used it. Since he wasn't allowed coffee he had to get his caffeine from somewhere, and she was the one who suggested trying tea in the first place. It wasn't going to bother her any if he took her kettle out when she wasn't even awake. They had different tastes regardless. (Namely he hated tea but wanted the caffeine and she loved chamomile with a passion.) 

The night was dark, the only light in the kitchen the light on the ovens clock and the microwaves screen. Not that that was an issue. He'd done this many times; a three AM tea break was par for the course, even on the rare nights ghost hadn't shown up. Besides, he had rather good night vision. Came with the package, he guessed. It was better he kept the light off, since he wasn't going to be there for long. 

A thought, small and pressing and loud, came to the front of his mind. Not anything he hadn't had before, in fact not anything new to this time. Three AM brought out many things. Things that make his head swim and his heart rate rocket up and his stomach churn. Things that a cup of tea helped him manage, though really that was a poor description of what he actually did. 

This time, the thought was about fears. The first thought was normally about how he wasn’t alive. This time, it had jumped straight to the big things.

He breathed deeply. In. Out. In again. Out again. He counted the seconds and breathed and shook his head and turned the heat off and poured the boiling water in his cup just before the kettle had the chance to boil. Getting too lost in three AM thoughts the last time had his parents down shooting first asking questions never and he had been so very lucky he was fast and their sleep addled brains made their aim off. He can't let the kettle whistle. 

He set the teabag in the cup and left the kitchen, prepared to get the next ingredient. It wasn't anything bad; a little ectoplasm for extra energy, nothing harmful. He didn't need it, not with how regularly he'd been visiting the ghost zone recently, but old habits. His parents kept samples down in the lab. Close to where they kept their projects. And after Maddie's recent organization frenzy he didn't have to guess at the ones they were using for experiments anymore. He can avoid the tampered ones better now. 

The portal illuminated the lab in a soft green glow, a soothing and pulsing light. The swirling pattern in its form was hypnotic, beckoning and welcoming him. He ignored it, though really at three AM there's nothing he wanted to do more than go. He crossed the lab to where the samples were now stored, and picked out the one farthest in the back. It was old, unused, and wouldn't be missed. 

His tea would be done steeping by then. He would go up the stairs, turning his back on the green glow and the swirling of the portal. He would remove the tea bag and pour in the ectoplasm, and he'd stir with his finger because contaminating a cup he bought and hid in his room for these nights (because the last cup he used his parents had thrown out after seeing how much ectoplasm had been on it, even though ectoplasm was the least harmful thing they had in their house) was different from contaminating a spoon. Not that that would really be anything to worry about. Ectoplasm clings but it wasn't poison. He knows, because Jazz once was up studying for an exam at three AM and she took a sip of his tea instead of her own by mistake. She was fine. But his parents would care. 

He takes his first sip, tea not quite hot enough to burn but hot enough for him to be uncomfortable. Like always. This is routine by now. Three AM he either is already up or he wakes up and he sits in the dark and drinks tea and then at four AM he goes back to his room to stare at the ceiling until his mom goes to wake him up at six. Sometimes he works on homework in that time, but he doesn't have the energy for that very often at all lately. 

Three thirty. Thirty minutes left to himself. No ghosts, no sister, no parents. If Sam's up she would have texted him by now. His phone sat silent on the table next to his cup. No relief for him. He took another sip of tea and let himself drift. 

Three AM. What a rotten time. At three AM Danny's awake and he's too tired to stop himself about thinking about everything he'd ever done wrong. At three AM Danny's awake and wondering if his parents would accept him if he told them now or if he's waited too long and they'll kill him without remorse. At three AM Danny's awake wondering if the next time the hunters shoot they'll hit him down for good. At three AM Danny's awake and feels as dead as the ghosts he fought, instead of just the half he was. At three AM Danny's awake and he thinks that maybe if Danny was gone things would be okay. 

The portal never looked so inviting as it did at three AM. He never thought of it as inviting at any other time, but at three AM it was. It told him to come over, to leave his home. He'd be able to make a new home. No more fighting. No more worries. You'll be safe. It'll sure help your family out. They wouldn't have to worry about that pesky ghost boy anymore. Valerie would protect the town fine. If you weren't there, it would help her too. She's good at her job. You're the only problem she has. Sam and Tucker, too. They only fight ghosts because of you. How much safer would they be if you stopped fighting? Leaving is just another way to help them. 

He almost left once. It was pretty close to that time, actually, his second death day. The only reason he didn't was because he was too jittery to go ghost, and he didn't want to try for a whole day as a human in the ghost zone. So he had hesitated in front of the beckoning swirls, and then soon after that Sam had called and she talked to him and his brain calmed for the remainder of the hour. She was often awake at this time too. She was just often more willing. He really would rather do anything else than thinking these things. Just what was it about three AM that did this to him? 

He didn't know. He finished his tea, took a deep breath, and did the dishes as quickly as he could. He left the kettle out but he took a towel to dry his cup and began his slow march up to his room. The steps filled his mind like the ticking of a clock, and he phased through his door when he came up to it. His room was cold. Not the pleasant cold he liked, but a terrible and stuffy cold. Walking through his room felt like he was brushing his skin against razor sharp needles, and the air pressed down on him trying to make him smaller. 

He set his cup down, closed his eyes tightly against the cold, and breathed some more. In, out. In, out. In. 

He opened his eyes, letting out one long sigh, and collapsed onto his bed, turning his head only slightly to see that the clock read four AM. The room still felt horrible, but it would until his mom came to wake him up. He knew that by now. He moved his gaze to stare back up at his ceiling, blinking the green out of his eyes. 

He hoped the ghosts would leave him alone for a day. That was the worst three AMs ever been. 

(Every day is the worst three AMs ever been.)


End file.
